


Kinktober 2019

by Code16



Series: and enter [5]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Acting under threat to loved ones, Belts, Boot Worship, Cock Warming, Corporal Punishment, D/s AU, Deepthroating, Forced to Watch, Human Furniture, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kneeling, Knifeplay, M/M, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Non-Consensual Spanking, Object Insertion, Punishment, Urine Drinking, Watersports, foot whipping, little bit of a psychic bond
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-11-27 01:18:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 5,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20939909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Code16/pseuds/Code16
Summary: Trying to do some kinktober prompts!Chapter titles have the kink and the characters and indications of verses of mine they belong to or are inspired by (if applicable).Going to be generally noncon.Updated contents list:Ch 1 | 1, Deep-Throating: dark!Nolo, Macalaure (Feanor watching) [>come for miles]Ch 2 | 2, Watersports+20, Urophagia: dark!Celegorm->Turgon (+ Fingon noncon) [willing and able]Ch 3 | 3, Knife Play (and possibly Edgeplay): dark!Feanor/Nolofinwe [and enter]Ch 4 | 4, Spanking: Curufin->MaitimoCh 5 | 25, Boot Worship: Fingon, dark!Feanor [willing and able]Ch 6 | 5, Feet: dark!Nolo->Maedhros (foot whipping), Maglor watching [d/s au]Ch 7 | 8, Sex Work: OCs/Feanor (discussed) + 10, Bonds: Feanor & Nolofinwe (familial) [d/s au]Ch 8 | 11, Object Insertion: dark!Feanor/Nolofinwe [and enter]Ch 9 | 15, Human Furniture + 19, Cock warming: dark!Maglor, Fingon & Turgon [willing and able]





	1. 1, Deep-Throating: dark!Nolo, Macalaure (Feanor watching) [>come for miles]

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [come for miles (to see you burn)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20139826) by [Code16](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Code16/pseuds/Code16). 

> []'s in chapter titles hold verses the chapter belongs to or is inspired by. Just words in the []'s means it's probably canon to the verse, > means it probably isn't but branches off it or starts with a similar premise etc.
> 
> d/s au stories are not unless indicated otherwise in the *same* verse (just a d/s au one).
> 
> [Shortcut to the chapter index where you can see all the titles](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20939909/navigate)
> 
> * * *
> 
> kinktober full prompt list: https://kinktober2019.tumblr.com/post/187716977021
> 
> 1\. Deep-Throating | Inflation | Face-Sitting | Masks  
2\. Ass Worship | Begging | Medical play | Watersports  
3\. Sensory Deprivation | Temperature Play | Edgeplay | Knife Play  
4\. Spanking | Mirror Sex | Spit-roasting | Dacryphilia (Crying)  
5\. Feet | Sadism/Masochism | Feederism | Shotgunning  
6\. Daddy | Corset | Cock Worship | Biting  
7\. Praise-kink | Body Swap | Aphrodisiacs | Incest  
8\. Blood/Gore | Prostitution/Sex Work | Fisting | Hate-fucking/Angry Sex  
9\. Titfucking | Sthenolagnia (Strength/Muscles) | Bondage | Lingerie  
10\. Hair-pulling | Waxplay | Micro/Macro | Bonds (Telepathic or Empathic)  
11\. Object Insertion | Sounding | Cross-dressing | Tribadism/Scissoring  
12\. Licking | Pet Play | Rimming/Analingus | Costume  
13\. Weight Gain | Distant/Distracted Sex | Gags | Creampie  
14\. Asphyxiation | Cunnilingus | Distention | Tentacles  
15 Forniphilia (Human Furniture) | Overstimulation |Thigh-Fucking/Intercrural sex |Uniforms  
16\. Nipple Play | Frottage | Body Worship | Sixty-nine  
17\. Masturbation | Seduction | Collaring | Orgasm Denial  
18\. Fucking Machine | Latex | Role Reversal | Xenophilia  
19\. Public | Formal Wear | Straitjacket | Cock-Warming  
20\. Urophagia | Hot-Dogging | Emeto | Dirty talk  
21\. Bukakke | Food play | Suspension | Branding  
22\. Impact Play | Cuckolding | Hand-jobs | Threesome (or more)  
23\. Scars | Master/Slave | Shibari | Size Difference  
24\. Pegging | Leather | Lapdances |Shower/Bath  
25\. Tickling | Scat | Boot Worship | Olfactophilia (Scent)  
26\. Lactation | Roleplay | Smiles/Laughter | Toys  
27\. Exhibitionism/Voyeurism | Degradation | Gun Play | Against a wall  
28\. Omorashi | Stripping/Striptease | Vore | Humiliation  
29\. Glory hole | Double (Or more) Penetration | Sleepy Sex | Massage  
30\. Gagging | Stockings/Tights/Pantyhose | Breast Worship | Swallowing  
31\. Any combination of the above!

Threading his fingers through Macalaure’s hair, Nolofinwe tugs a little, drawing his cock out just slightly before pushing back in, pulling’s Macalaure’s head down again. His cock is buried about as far down Macalaure’s throat as it can go, Macalaure’s head held between his legs; if it weren’t in the way he knows he could see the base of his cock disappearing into Macalaure’s mouth.

He’ll fuck his mouth properly a little later. For now he continues the small motions, keeping Macalaure aware of how he holds him, how his cock is settled, the tip brushing against him somewhere inside. (He’d picked Macalaure for this specifically. Feanor’s musician, his singer. Symbolic, to take him like this, and he’ll feel the aftereffects on his throat most intimately. And good breath control.)

Taking a firmer grip on Macalaure’s hair, Nolofinwe looks up toward the wall of the room. Feanor’s bindings are secure - he’s made quite sure it won’t be in Feanor’s best interests to attempt to physically attack him, but in this of all times he does not want to trust his brother’s rash temper. Feanor is silent. Paler. Holds himself with some different intensity even in the bindings. Eyes not moving from his son.

Well. Nolofinwe did order that. (Macalaure is almost silent. Very quiet sounds Nolofinwe can feel as well as hear. Hands still crossed behind his back where he had also ordered.) 

“I warned you,” Nolofinwe notes conversationally to Feanor. “Make trouble for me, and your children will suffer. Make trouble for me with that mouth of yours, and-” 

Feanor doesn’t say anything. Nolofinwe pulls out slightly more, thrusts slightly harder down Macalaure’s throat. Takes note of the (also slight, but this position is an advantage to observation, isn’t it) change in reaction. 

“Say ‘yes, your Royal Highness.’”

“Yes, your Royal Highness,” Feanor responds immediately. Not even the fraction of a moment’s hesitation Nolofinwe has seen in him before, now. 

“Say you’ll behave from now on.”

“I’ll behave from now on. Your Royal Highness.”

“Good. I do hope so. I’d hate to have to do this too often after all. Should you be uncommonly a slow learner.” Another tug on Macalaure’s hair. He shifts his hips a little, considers angles. ( This is of course mostly for Feanor's benefit, but that does not mean he cannot have his enjoyment from Macalaure. Who does have such a pleasing mouth.)

"Pay attention," he says, adjusting his grip the better to direct forthcoming motion. "I wouldn’t like to have to repeat the lesson." 


	2. 2, Watersports (+ 20, Urophagia): dark!Celegorm->Turgon, Fingon watching and then more than [willing and able]

He doesn’t even know what Turgon said.

He’s in one of the inside yards, because he  _ is _ allowed there. Looks up at the noise on the stairs that exit to it in case it’s guards for him. Instead it’s Celegorm, a hand in Turgon’s hair, dragging him down the stairs and half across the yard. Tosses him to the ground. “On your knees.” Turgon gets to his knees. He’s trembling a little. (Findekano has half an impulse to try to hide, but it’s a bad impulse so he doesn’t do that. Stays where he is. This of course means that Celegorm sees him.)

“Findekano.” Celegorm doesn’t actually turn to look at him. “How good to find you here. Kneel over there.” He kneels. 

“You,” Celegorm says, all his attention back on Turgon now. “Need to remember who you belong to. If my brothers were here, I’m sure they’d have some ideas. But I’ve learned from some places they haven’t.” He reaches for his waistband, pulls his dick out (because  _ of course _ he does). “Open your mouth.” Turgon opens his mouth. 

Celegorm does not, in fact, shove his dick into his mouth. Turgon flinches and sputters as the stream of urine hits him. Closes his mouth on reflex, jerks back - (Findekano, for all his practice  _ not _ , nearly jumps up and tackles Celegorm). Celegorm grabs Turgon by the hair again. “Open your mouth and swallow or I’ll come back with more.” Turgon is trembling more but he nods quickly. Opens his mouth. Celegorm resumes and Turgon looks like he nearly chokes but swallows until Celegorm moves, lets out the rest over his face and hair. 

“Who do you belong to?” (He’s fairly sure Turgon is crying, though it’s harder to tell than even usual because -. He continues not to tackle Celegorm.)

“You, your highness.” Celegorm turns, walks over to him.

“Who do you belong to?” 

“You, your highness.” He’s fairly sure he’d rather have Celegorm’s urine than those words in his mouth right now, but even if Celegorm’s almost least likely of them all to turn back around on Turgon for it instead of just punishing  _ him _ , he doesn’t think Turgon wants to see  _ him _ punished right now either. Doesn’t think Turgon wouldn’t rather he say it. 

“Clean me off.” He does. (It’s not really that much worse than it usually is. Or is mostly in how much more he has to keep himself from taking advantage of the lack of a gag and biting down.) Celegorm puts himself away. 

“Don’t go anywhere.” Turgon cries. (Celegorm doesn’t tell them how long they’re going to be not going, because  _ of course _ he doesn’t.)

Celegorm leaves.   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 10/21: I originally wrote this for Watersports but after consideration am adding counting it for Urophagia, since it does *have* it and it seems a bit weird to say that I'm not doing that day when in fact I do have this.


	3. 3, Knife Play (and possibly Edgeplay): dark!Feanor/Nolofinwe [and enter]

Feanor has a knife. Not a reason to have a knife near him, and he’s holding it when Nolofinwe comes in, kneels in the place for him. Feanor looks up at him from the knife, and - it probably wouldn’t hurt much more than other things Feanor has done, he thinks. Maybe less. Probably - He closes his eyes for moment. “Please - please don’t.”

“Hm? Oh, I’m not going to cut you with it. I just want to try something.   
Take off your clothes and lie on the bed. Face down.” He does it. He thinks he’s only a little slower, only looks a few times, at the knife. 

He flinches at the next touch. It’s only Feanor’s hand, as warm as skin, on his shoulder, but he flinches first. “Lie still,” Feanor tells him. 

He can’t. He shivers in little tremors, and Feanor sighs and shifts and holds him down with more of his weight. And then he can feel it, the cold metal against his skin, the slight touch of it, the sharpness just beyond how light it is. How it moves, in lines, maybe in some patterns. Leaves for a moment, returns elsewhere. Across his arms, down his back. 

He doesn’t know how long Feanor spends at it. Knows when Feanor’s weight lifts off him, flinches at the next touch again but it’s his fingers this time, stroking lightly (nothing behind them.) 

“That really did scare you.” He nods against the sheets.

“Yes, your grace.” He thinks his voice has been clearer after some of the times Feanor’s whipped him. 

“Why?”

“I - don’t know, your grace." He tries - “I - think because it could. I don’t think you would, you said you wouldn’t, I-” He can feel the bed shift a little when Feanor nods. For a little while Feanor stays there, then.

“I did tell you to keep still.”

Feanor takes a belt to him, and it’s a relief, almost, the leather raises welts on his skin and nothing else, the pain he knows. Feanor has him lie back on the bed and runs a hand through his hair. He thinks he might lean into it, as much as he’s been allowed. (It’s a relief, almost.)

The next time he flinches when he sees the knife. (Kneels). 

“Watch,” Feanor tells him, and sets it against his own arm, and presses hard. His eyes widen, he - it isn’t quite a flinch. There is nothing.

“I had the edge dulled. You can check.” Feanor tosses him the knife. He doesn’t catch it, has to pick it up from the floor. The same metal, the same shine of it. How it thins and tapers. But he can see what Feanor said, before he touches it. Can run his finger up the edge and to the point.

“Should that assist with your concerns?”

He nods, mutely. “I - think so, your grace.”

“Take off your clothes, on the bed, face down.”

It does help. He can keep himself from shaking, remind himself of how he saw Feanor press it down, saw and felt it against his own finger. It gets better - some tension, breathlessness, that won’t quite leave, but just a little. The patterns run over him in cool lines, Feanor’s hand light on him now.

Feanor takes a while with it again. Stands and returns. “That will be all for today,” he says. Sits back beside him, runs fingers through Nolofinwe’s hair again. He leans into it.


	4. 4, Spanking: Curufin->Maitimo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some verse where eye color determines social category.

“You were in the workroom again,” he says to his brother, finding him as he’s walking back through one of the common rooms. 

Maitimo doesn’t deny it (he’s not sure Maitimo has ever denied anything). Looks down a little (its hides his eyes from sight some, but it is not as though they do not both already know their color). “I don’t touch anything. Just look around at what people would do.”

“I should hope you don’t touch anything, or I’d have to call a guard to cane you.” Maitimo keeps looking where he’s looking. Curufin sighs. “Come and lie across my lap.” He goes to sit on one of the couches. Waits as Maitimo follows him - knows how this works, folds his underclothing to the side and draws his robe up before taking his place, his thighs and buttocks bare and pale across Curufin’s knees. 

His first strike raises a mark, lightly flushed and vaguely in the shape of his hand. The next few do as well before they begin to blend together into an even red that darkens as he continues. Maitimo is quiet when he’s punished, mostly, most of his flinches barely visible, though Curufin can feel them from how Maitimo is settled across him. He stops after a while.

“Should I take my belt off?”

“I don’t decide.” It is true he supposes (though they might have less trouble if saying untrue things was the problem Maitimo had). He takes off his belt, doubles it over. Gives Maitimo twenty; considers then adds another twenty (they  _ have _ talked about this). Maitimo turns his face into his arm, against the couch. Is still not quite as quiet, for the second set. 

“One of these days you’re going to get caught by someone who isn’t family,” Curufin says (still holding the belt, laid across the welts it left.)

“I’m careful.” It takes Maitimo a moment to respond, but the response is mostly steady.

“Then you’re going to get caught by someone who isn’t family and they’ll also say you were trying to hide it.” Maitimo doesn’t say anything. “Do you  _ want _ to be punished in the King’s hall?” Maitimo doesn’t say anything. Curufin sighs again. Puts the belt down, goes back to his hand, another few minutes. Lets Maitimo up.

“If I find out you’ve been there again before the month is up,  _ I’ll _ cane you.” Maitimo nods and doesn’t say anything. Stands in front of him with his robe back down below his knees. “You can go.” Maitimo leaves. Curufin puts his belt back on. Goes back to the workroom himself. (They say Curufin has hands almost like his father’s.

They say he has his father’s eyes.)


	5. 25, Boot Worship (written for 5, Feet): Fingon, dark!Feanor [willing and able]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally wrote this for day 5's Feet prompt (in my mind, shoe kinks go under the foot kinks 'heading' so to speak). Reading more of the list I then ran into Boot Worship being a later prompt, and friends I consulted with said they considered the two separate kinks, so it probably makes most sense to move it. Posting it now anyway, though.

Feanor wants him. 

As almost always when Feanor wants him, he finds himself wishing with intensity that Feanor didn’t know he loved his family. Because it would be worth whatever punishment Feanor managed to think up to get to actually hit him, once. Tell him, once, anything of what he thinks of him. But Feanor is creative, and Findekano knows what it  _ isn’t _ worth. And Feanor knows.

Feanor wants him to kneel and kiss his boots, and then polish them while he’s wearing them, while he sits there and works (or maybe pretends to work). Then kiss them again more elaborately, around the sole at the toe, up the seams, the fastenings. He does it. It’s not the worst thing he could have to do with his tongue, here. And he can think of better things to do with his tongue, can think about getting up from his knees, saying -

But Feanor knows he loves his family.

He kneels, quietly, and kisses Feanor’s boots. 


	6. 5, Feet: dark!Nolo->Maedhros (foot whipping), Maglor watching [d/s au]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ended up writing a replacement for the 'Feet' fill.
> 
> Background for this au: Feanor, who's a [sub listed as a] switch had been arrested; Maitimo and Macalaure being of sufficient age have been put under supervision/oversight, specifically by dom!dark!Nolo.

Nolofinwe summons them to his office.

“One of you went into a part of the house I’ve forbidden to you.”

“It was me, sir.” He says it almost immediately. Enough of a pause to make it natural the right way. Looks down at his knees. (He’s good at this. He knows it bothers their father, sometimes, but he is. Demure. Submissive.)

Nolofinwe looks from one to the other of them. He worries for a moment Macalaure will contradict him, try to admit to it after all. (They’ve talked about this.  _ ‘I’m a sub, he’ll just beat me. You’re a switch, he’d report it to the Court’.  _ He thinks if it were just the two of them, Macalaure might not have given in. None of his family has ever liked to see him punished. But the Court might hold it against their father, if his also-switch son-above-first-majority will not hold to the rules of where he’s been sent. (Yet again, as always, he is grateful that all the rest of his brothers are underage still, have not been brought into this, are with their mother as safe as that can make them.))

Macalaure does not contradict him. After a moment it is Nolofinwe who breaks the silence again. 

“Account for yourself.”

“I wanted to know the house more. As I would a house I’d be keeping.” It’s good as a story. He and Macalaure can talk later about what Nolofinwe could have noticed, how and if they can correct for it. “I shouldn’t have disobeyed you to do it. I’m very sorry, sir.” Now Nolofinwe looks at him. He keeps his head bowed. After another few moments Nolofinwe must have enough of it, one way or another. Turns away.

“Come over here.” He goes. Is ready to take his robe up, bend over the desk or whatever Nolofinwe wishes to use this time. But Nolofinwe is pulling a bench away from the wall. 

“Lie down. Face down.” He has his hands on his robes - he hasn’t generally been beaten lying down, but he has an idea of how it could work - but Nolofinwe preempts that as well. 

“No, leave that. Lie down.” He lies down. Stretches out along the bench. Nolofinwe does something where he can’t quite see - lifts his ankles onto something, then something - a restraint strap? - over them. He’s confused for a second, then remembers pictures he’s seen. The recitations they’d learned of what in punishment is forbidden and permitted.  _ Oh.  _ (Their own province, he thinks, has banned this one outside of prisons and a few specific industries. This province-).

There are more restraints higher up. Nolofinwe walks away to somewhere else in the room after; comes back with a strap (very thin one, lash-like). (Maglor is going to be upset, he thinks. Probably won’t jump up and try to protest though, or anything. That’s good.) 

“Macalaure, you will count the strokes,” Nolofinwe says. Maitimo moves his hands so one will brace him to the bench, some, the other to where he can press it against his mouth. He’s - never done this, but. He’s very sure from what he knows it’s going to hurt. (Nolofinwe wouldn’t be doing it to him, if it wouldn’t hurt.)

It hurts. Sears at the hit, travels up and through him. He holds to the bench harder, bites down on his hand. Is grateful for the restraints, so very. Nolofinwe doesn’t pause long after the first. 

Macalaure counts steadily. It helps, a little, his voice, when he can listen at all. (He thinks he can hear more in it than Nolofinwe can.) You need good aim for this, he remembers, if you want to punish and not injure. Nolofinwe has good aim. Precise.

“That will be all,” says Nolofinwe. Walks along the bench to undo the restraints. “Sit up.” He pushes himself up to sit. Wipes at his eyes. It burns, still. He - thinks he’ll be able to walk. Probably without Macalaure’s help, even.

“Stay where you’re told,” Nolofinwe says. Strap now coiled back in his hand.

“Yes, sir.”

“You may leave.” He was right, he can walk, though Macalaure catches him when he comes past him anyway. He waits to hug him back till they’re outside the office. 

“I‘m fine,” he says when they are.

“You always say that.”

“Haven’t not been fine.” If he weren’t tall as he is, he thinks Macalaure might have tried to pick him up. As it is he keeps trying to half-support him, let less weight fall on his feet. Doesn’t say most of what he probably is thinking - they’re still too close to the office. Hesitates, says the other thing they’re both thinking. 

“Do you think father -”

“I don’t know.” He doesn’t really know much detail about what it had been like, their father growing up with their grandfather. Can’t know, now, if Nolofinwe had thought of this himself, or-

_ Banned outside of prisons _ , he thinks, and wonders if Macalaure is thinking that too.

He hugs Macalaure, lets him hug him, lets him help him back to their room. 


	7. 8, Sex Work: OCs/Feanor (discussed) + 10, Bonds: Feanor & Nolofinwe (familial) [d/s au]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: dark!Finwe and child abuse not onscreen but present.
> 
> This is a work of kink fiction. In as much as some issues it contains relate to some things in real life, I am not an expert on those things and am not writing to represent them accurately to the real world.

Feanor’s apartment isn’t far from the trainstop. If his father knew he was going to this part of town he’d whip him - but if his father knew he knew where Feanor was and hadn’t told him he‘d - Nolofinwe isn’t actually sure what he would do, but the other threat doesn’t have as much force as it usually would, with that.

No one’s really bothered him yet, aside from looks that he thinks he’s maybe getting better at ignoring. He isn’t sure if it’s because he’s actually managed a claimed-sub look like he tried, or because he looks like the sort of person who, if he’s bothered, the police might actually listen to.

He knocks on Feanor’s door. Their familial bond isn’t very strong, and Feanor keeps it mostly closed a lot of the time, so it doesn’t surprise him that he can’t feel much except Feanor’s presence until Feanor opens the door. Then - there’s a limit to how much you can close off a bond for some things at close physical proximity, especially if you’ve been keeping it open even a little. It hits him, hard, pain and some other thing Feanor is trying much harder to keep him from feeling much of. The deliberately braced way Feanor walks back across the room is barely extra knowledge, though it still feels like another hit.

“Sorry about that. I would have told you not to come, but-” But they don’t really have a way for Feanor to talk to him easily, because whatever it would be Finwe might intercept it, and the use-for-emergencies way would have - well, caused him to think the worst. And he’s begged Feanor before not to lie to him ‘for his own good’,  _ please _ .

“Thank you,” he says, about the last of those. And, “What  _ happened _ ?”

Feanor raises his eyebrows, suppresses a flinch as he sits down in one of the derelict chairs, but Nolofinwe can feel it anyway. “How do you think I pay my rent, brother dear?” He swallows. Looks down at his feet. Doesn’t look around the apartment, though he knows it well enough by now anyway, tiny and shabby and with most things at least partially broken, and - and.

“And yes, before you ask, I still entirely prefer this to our father’s house.” ‘Our father’s house’ comes with the condenced taste of it to Feanor across the bond - pain (Feanor doesn’t care so much about that but it’s there in layers, enough memories they clump together rather than stand out). Hated, stifling prison. Pushing at him like a misfitted brace trying to make a bone grow wrong. 

He nods. (He’s still trying not to feel guilty for how long he spent not knowing. Nodding when their father talked about Feanor - defiant, insubordinate, disgrace. Radiating the feeling of that at Feanor when he‘d see him on the breaks from the boarding school, dismissive resolve to not be like that. To be good.  _ “You were a child,”  _ Feanor’s told him.  _ “And I don’t think father wanted you to know, what he could be like. I certainly didn’t” _ . Definitely their father didn’t want him to know, why he was suddenly getting punished for mistakes he’d never thought before would be treated as transgressions, those months right before Feanor disappeared. Why it kept getting worse. Why it stopped, suddenly, when Feanor did.)

”You’re not - the last times I came - they’re not all this bad, right?” Feanor laughs shortly.

“No. Surprisingly it’s turned out that not every dom I meet wants to beat me quite this much.”

He swallows again. “You could - it’s not legal, right, if you didn’t -. I could try to find someone - who’d care, even if it was here -.”

“And what do you think they’d do, if they came to came to care and found a sub without their guardian?”

Eyes back down at the floor. “I’m sorry.” Feanor shrugs.

“Not your doing. Never has been.”

“You - left because of me.” The not-so in certain solidity comes across the bond even before Feanor speaks.

“I left so he’d stop beating you to make me behave, but I should have left long before. Didn’t know what it’d be like anywhere else. I do now.” 

He has some money with him - left from being out with friends that weekend, not finding much he liked on the occasion. (He should probably not have taken it with him, here. But too late for that.) He pulls it out, offers it over to Feanor. “Here, I-”

“I don’t want our father’s money.” Absolute, like an iron gate. If it’s not  _ I’d rather die _ it’s very close to it.

“No, it’s - I can’t say it isn’t his, but he gave it to me. He won’t know, he’ll just think I - went to some restaurant, instead of finding jewelry. 

If you - have a buffer, you can refuse people more sometimes, right? Better bargaining position.” Feanor raises eyebrows at him. “I - read some of the books you left.” Feanor pauses long enough that Nolofinwe isn’t sure if he’ll -. But then accepts the bills, rises again to put them away somewhere. 

“...Thank you.”

“Thank you.” He doesn’t say for what. Isn’t sure he could. Maybe with the bond Feanor can tell, enough. “...I could make tea?” (That conversation they’d had already, about him bringing it. He hadn’t this time; Feanor doesn’t drink it that fast.)

They drink tea together at Feanor’s table.


	8. 11, Object Insertion: dark!Feanor/Nolofinwe [and enter]

“I did warn you,” Feanor says pleasantly enough, spinning the ornament around a finger. 

It’s true. And he should have put it further away after that, after Feanor told him not to wear it again. Not kept it in a case with other jewelry, thinking it harmless if Feanor wouldn’t run into it even if he walked into Nolofinwe’s rooms. If no one else would. (He’d found it pretty, why he’d liked it to begin with, even if Feanor thought the motif too crown-like for him to wear). But he could have looked at it, if he’d wanted to, if he’d put it elsewhere. And he wouldn’t have put it on then, today, absent-minded and lost in some other thought.

He looks at Feanor’s floor.

“Would you remind me,” Feanor says, “what I said would happen, should I see you wearing this again, or be told you were doing so?” He reddens, feels the heat through his face. He doesn’t - want to say it, not himself. Feanor looks at him, one hand still playing with the chain. 

“You said, if I wore it, you’d put it somewhere I could appreciate it. And - other people wouldn’t need to be seeing.”

“So I did.  
Strip, lie down.” He does. Feanor is doing something to the jewelry piece, folding up the larger sections, leaving the thinner plain chain hanging. Takes some thin membrane he must have readied and pushes the folded ornament into it so it’s surrounded, until it looks almost like a compact ball inside the membrane, the chain still dangling out. Then Feanor sits down on the bed beside him. “Spread your legs and don’t make this difficult for me.” 

He’s - fairly good at that, by now. Feanor has something to smooth the way, wet and without much more feeling to it. Pushes his working of sorts inside him, mostly slowly. It - isn’t the worst thing Feanor’s put inside him, though he can feel very pointedly the ways it is  _ not _ exactly actually like a compact ball. 

Feanor gets it to where he wants it, settles it there. Checks for that, withdraws his hand. Taps one of Nolofinwe’s cheeks.

“I’ll thrash you tomorrow. Wouldn’t want it distracting you.” He tries to shift a little, see what moving will be like. He can still feel edges and corners of it, poking into him inside even through the membrane.

“Don’t lose track of the chain. I suspect that might cause some difficulty with the reverse direction.” He winces in a different way. (He can feel where the chain is hanging out). Nods. “Stay there for now.” That - may or may not be a kindness, somewhat. Feanor wipes off his hands and stands, starts sorting through some drawer. Nolofinwe lies on the bed. Tries to - adjust to it, as he can, in stillness and slightly shifting more, before he has to move.

“Alright, get dressed, get out,” Feanor says, after what both feels like some time and like not very much. He tries to get up carefully, dress carefully. Not too slowly. Moving is - not pleasant, noticeable, differently than when it’s a more usual plug Feanor uses. He gets his clothes on. He walks, carefully (not too slowly) from the room. 


	9. 15, Forniphilia (Human Furniture) + 19, Cock warming: dark!Maglor, Fingon & Turgon [willing and able]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also maybe a bit Uniform.

Findekano tries not to grit his teeth as Maglor looks them over. (Not enough for it to be noticeable, anyway). Maglor’s often happy enough to use them for what he wants and let them go without a punishment on top, if they don’t give him much reason to do otherwise. If he wants this to be over as quickly and as - not easily, but at least not too far to its opposite - as it can be, the best he can do is not provide a reason.

They’re dressed as Maglor had told them to be. Matching, in Feanor’s House’s colors. The - pants, if they can be called that when they’ve got the pant legs and the waistband but are missing some parts in the middle. The tunic covers it all for now - Findekano can see Turgon’s hands at his sides, how his fingers twitch toward the hem, wanting to tug it down, how he curls them away and holds them there so he won’t be seen at it. (They’d had to embroider Feanor’s star themselves. He knows he’ll only have to do it again, and be punished meanwhile, if he gets a tear or a stain across it. He hasn’t.)

Apparently they pass inspection. Maglor commands them to follow, leads them not to his own chambers (as could probably have been expected - they don’t tend to need to get so dressed up, for that) but to a room elsewhere. A sitting room, some friends of his not of the palace already there, perched in various chairs and lounges around the room, wine and morsels to go with it set out, various instruments of music at hand for a few. One of the other elves stands and makes to draw a chair forward for Maglor, but Maglor waves him off. Beckons him and Turgon forward.

“One of you will be my seat tonight, and one of you,” he gestures down, “will keep me warm. You may trade when we are halfway done. I will allow you to decide who begins.” Findekano thinks quickly - it’ll be better for Turgon to get a break (inasmuch being a seat, and for two people’s weight, is a break. But in ways that count it is) than to spend so much time in anticipation. He finds the place in the circle-of-sorts the other elves obviously left for Maglor, drops to hands and knees. Which means he doesn’t get to see Maglor’s reaction, but it must, again, be sufficiently approving, because soon enough he’s seeing Maglor’s robes and then weight settles down on him. And then more weight; he can hear Turgon’s whimper. Tries not to react too hard.

Like this, he can’t see much of Maglor and his guests. Can hear them - they talk about nothing much, laugh at each other’s jokes (if any of them have some sort of emotion at Maglor’s entourage, they’re not showing it much this way). Indulge in the drink and the food - he can hear their comments on it, smell the wine as someone pours it for Maglor. 

After some time, a few of them play pieces for Maglor’s critique. He gives it, though does not seem, for the moment, to be playing himself. (Findekano’s arms tire first, but his legs start to catch up as time goes on. His back objects to the use it’s being put to. Occasionally Maglor shifts, and sometimes it’s a relief, a new weight distribution, different pressures. Sometimes the movement comes with further whimpers, choked off gasps. Then it’s not a relief at all.)

He can hear when Maglor whispers to Turgon (though not what he says. Maglor knows how to control his voice). The weights lift off him; he stops himself from falling to the floor at the release. Gets himself up to his knees instead. Gets himself to stand, get out of the way. Turgon moves to take his place (Turgon isn’t looking at him, but Findekano can catch a glimpse of the faint teartracks. There’s nothing he can do, there  _ isn’t _ , so he doesn’t, waits for Maglor to - sit - and beckon for him. Grits his teeth (he’s facing away from Maglor, now) and spreads his legs and starts lowering himself down.

Like  _ this _ he can see the guests. Some of them apparently have emotions about the situation after all - look back at him. A few hungrily. (He wishes he were better at telling if Maglor was in the mood to share. And if there was a way to convince him to limit the sharing to Findekano. He’ll beg, he can do that, but - that only goes exactly as far as they want. He doesn’t know if it’ll be far enough.)

Other factors being equal (which, of course, they aren’t) he did prefer having his eyes averted. Doesn’t risk closing them. Wishes he could get his feet on the floor, take some of his weight, but he’s not tall enough. (‘Keep me warm’ Maglor had said. His length burns inside Findekano now, anew at every move and shift. Maglor's arm wraps around him, keeping him in place; his other hand comes to touch now and then.)

His limbs feel too loose and ache. Maglor hands him a wineglass in lieu of setting it on a table. He holds it steady. Doesn’t spill it on the embroidered star.

He thinks it has in fact been over again as long when he feels Maglor’s lips at his ear. “Get to your knees and suck me off.” A new reason to be glad he’d picked the ordering he did, even if this is mostly luck. He stands with as little push of his weight as he can manage, goes to his knees and takes Maglor’s dick in his mouth. 

For how long the rest of this took, this part doesn’t very. Maglor moans softly and comes. Pushes Fingon away soon after. In another moment tucks himself back. Stands. “The two of you can leave.” Not looking back at them, he begins to walk across the room, what looks like toward one of the instruments. 

Turgon levers himself up slowly. Doesn’t want help, Findekano knows from experience, so he just waits. Turgon is up (shaky himself, but walking) by the time Maglor has the instrument in hand, is finding himself a different seat.

They don’t linger to listen. 

**Author's Note:**

> [My tumblr for these kinds of things](http://findundergrounddragoutofwater.tumblr.com). I love fandom social things, and anyone who feels like they might want to message etc me for any reason is encouraged to totally do so.


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